The Graveborn Saints
by Jotosai The Fryslayer
Summary: This story follows a small Sabbat pack in their quest to take Memphis from the Camarilla.
1. Ashes of the Siege

**A little info before we start.**

For the most part, Combat actions are separated by "turns" which by Mind's Eye Theatre (MET) standards last about three seconds. It is common for one on one combat between two neonates to last three to seven turns but may take longer depending on the powers available to the combatants. Especially well equipped or well trained and even very powerful Vampires can dispatch foes in one or two turns.

I will generally refrain from use of clan and discipline names except in dialogue. You may want to brush up on your clans and disciplines. So instead of _Joro read his aura, _you get _Joro stared intently at his foe, his aura becoming visible. _The difference is a more theatrical and interesting interpretation.

Terminology: I will try to cover term used in this fic as they appear. If I miss something, visit the unofficial White Wolf Wiki at .com/wiki/Main_Page. Also, Seattle Sabbat has some good resources at .com/.

**Antediluvian: **Means literally "before the flood". This term refers to the old ones of the third generation that existed before the Great Flood of biblical times. These are the Vampires that all others trace their lineage to. All clans descend from one of the Antediluvians. The Sabbat believe that the Antediluvians will awaken and diablerize every last one of their descendants before finally turning upon each other. The one thing that all Vampires agree upon is that when they do awaken, Gehenna will have finally arrived.

**Cainenites**: Sabbat term for Vampires. Comes from the common lore that ALL Vampires descended from Caine. Yeah, the guy that killed his brother in Genesis.

**Camarilla**: A sect of Vampires to which all Vampires "belong". Their belief is that Vampires should keep their existence secret from Humans. Let's not forget how many lost their lives during the dark ages. The Inquisition is still around, you know.

**Gehenna**: The end times. The Antediluvians will awaken and call out to their blood. No Vampire will be safe as they all will be turned upon other lineages. Many Elders believe that time is near.

**Jyhad**: The nightly goings on of Kindred society. Elders play their childer against one another and manipulate kine in order to further their agendas. The Sabbat believe that the Antediluvians are the ultimate players in the game, even while they slumber.

**Kindred**: Camarilla term for Vampires.

**Kine**: Humans. Food. Puppets and playthings. Also, they can walk in the sun. Remember that before you shit where you sleep.

**Sabbat**: Sect dedicated to freedom of Cainenites. Destroy the elders before you become just another pawn in the Antediluvian's little game of Jyhad.

**January, 3, 2010**

The siege of Atlanta, GA ended a few weeks earlier, leaving the Camarilla there weakened, but not beaten. "If not for the retreat order, I could regroup with the remnants and finish this.

This city belongs to the free." said Hate Joro. Joro was a Japanese man of 5' 11" with elbow length black hair and his right eye was milky and scarred. He wore a midnight blue suit and black dress shoes, shined to perfection. Shadows seemed to cling to his skin. He carried a red katana on his right side, sharp side up.

He thought back to the call he'd received on his burn phone. "All Sabbat survivors of the Atlanta Siege are to regroup and retreat on the order of Archbishop Gabriel. They are to report to a war camp on the banks of the Mississippi River in West Memphis and await further orders."

Joro walked the back allies searching for evidence of other packs or remnants.

Two hours of searching brought results. In the basement of a burned out building, there sat one Cainenite. He sat at a desk reading from a thick, ancient, black, leather bound tome. He wore all black. A black jacket and black pants, with black combat boots. He also wore black body armor and a black tactical vest. He turned to Joro, reaching for his chest, revealing a face adorned with a black bandanna covering his mouth and a pair of black shades over his eyes. His voice was rough and raspy. "One more step and you burn!"

There came a small voice from Joro's feet as he felt his knees and pelvic joints grow rigid. "I don't think you have to worry about him moving. I locked him up." Joro glanced down to see a six inch tall humanoid form sneering up at him with a face like a voodoo doll.

Joro allowed a small grin to touch his lips as he willed a tentacle forth from the shadows of the desk. The ebon dressed Caininite found his weapon ripped from his grip and promptly fired in his face. The 18" 8-gauge shotgun had three barrels arranged in a triangle. All three barrels belched forth a deadly spray of incidniary materials and shot, shredding his face and destroying his shades and bandanna.

Simultaneously two more tentacles sprang forth from the shadows of Joro's suit jacket, lifting him from the floor. He drew his katana and cut the left hand off of the tiny doll at his feet, while launching himself left just in time to dodge a spray from yet another triple barreled shotgun held in one hand by the ebon dressed Caininite.

His face now framed two gleaming red eyes and his gaping maw filled with sharp teeth sneering from behind the tattered remnants of his bandanna. His other hand held a khukri that he swung behind him, slashing at the tenticle.

The tenticle withered into the darkness from which it was born. He quickly tossed the khukri at Joro, leaving just enough time to draw two long pistols from his sides while dropping the shotgun.

Joro, still airborne, attempted to deflect the incoming khukri with his blade, but only managed to make light contact. The khukri veered away from his chest and lodged deep into his right arm. He crashed into a table piled up with raw flesh.

He glanced over just as the doll reached out to the flesh. Joro swatted the little doll away with a flick of his blade.

Three shots rang out. Joro looked to the ebon one to see smoke wisping from the barrels of the pistols. His gaze was fixed on the doorway where a body fell to the floor.

Joro caught movement on the floor, as the doll ran to the body, nestling itself into the pocket of its jeans. The body rolled over and grabbed out, sinking its teeth into the leg of the next creature to emerge from the doorway. Three more shots rang out as the body's victim convulsed, displaying three neat and searing wounds, then promptly began decaying.

Joro launched himself towards the doorway. Three more Caininites descended the stairs, snarling.

"Burn in hell Sabbat scum," the first growled, lighting a road flare. Joro lept forward, ripping the flare from his hand and shoving it into his chest where it burned through to his heart. The body crumbled to ash as the other two lunged for Joro.

Joro focused his vitae, finding a burst of speed. His quick movements cut the two foolish assailants to ribbons, thier bodies falling to slightly decayed bits.

"Never send Neonates to do the work of Elders you fools," Joro muttered. There came a voice decending the stairs. "I whole heartedly agree. That's why I'm here to finish the job." The voice belonged to a 7'2" female with long blonde hair, wearing a tattered formal dress and combat boots. Her fingers bore sharp claws caked with blood. She had a feral gleam in her eyes.

Three shots rang out, the bullets glowing as they plowed into her flesh, flattening. Joro knew right then that this was an Elder and she was not to be trifled with.

She let out a bestial roar and promptly swiped out at Joro. He leaned right, bracing against the wall, and tripped up the Elder with one tenticle, then rammed his katana into her back. He met solid resistance.

Three more shots rang out, the bullets, flattened, grouped tight in her forehead. Feeling nothing, the Elder flung Joro from her back.

With lightning reflex, Joro grabbed the khukri still lodged in his arm and lodged it into the Elder's snarling mouth. Three more shots rocked the back of the Elder's skull, the force causing the khukri to pierce her throat.

Joro held on to the Elder tightly, digging and twisting the khukri deeper into the Elder's throat, as she flailed about trying to seperate him from her. The pain of her claws did not phase Joro, for he had but one thing in mind.

The moment he felt her flesh soften, he found the stake hidden in his jacket, and drove it home with practiced precision.

As she fell, Joro took up a guarded stance over his spoils. The ebon one holstered his pistols, as the doll crawled from the pocket of the sleeping body he had posessed, grinning the whole way to the ebon one's feet. "She's your kill... Brother," the ebon one said. "You earned her. And one more thing. Welcome to The Graveborn Saints." Joro, feeling that these two could be trusted, happily sank his fangs into the Elder, drinking until not even the soul itself remained.


	2. Orders from on High

*Spelling error in the previous Chapter. Caininite should be spelled Cainite.

**January, 4, 2010** **2:30 PM**

Somewhere in the air over the Southeast, the three Cainites sleep in the protection of a windowless puddle-jumper cargo aircraft. Joro managed to find a pilot on short notice that agreed to fly the three in exchange for $500 worth of petty drugs, which were stolen from a small time street gang that Joro left slain in their house in the ghetto of Atlanta.

As Joro slept, he relived the nightmare of the last days of the siege. He could smell the smoke belching forth from the ritual bonfire of the Fire Dance they had participated in the night his sire fell. The scent of gun smoke still burned his nostrils, as he remembered the 20 brash neonates that fell to his pack of seven. Indeed, the pack, The Still Shadow, had cut a bloody path across Atlanta that night. The pack had a kill count of 56 and were on a roll, as they did their part to dismantle the Camarilla's new reinforced assault.

A short rest was in order after the foolish neonates had been slaughtered. They were young, but they were by no means push-overs. The pack celebrated their most recent victory.

Time seemed to slow down as Joro caught sight of a figure darting out of the shadows. Too late to do anything, Joro watched as the man brought to bear an object that produced a horrifying gout of flame, engulfing his sire and three others. The three fell into a fear induced frenzy, and blinded by fear, burned into ash.

Joro's sire maintained his wits, and tore into the foolish man. The potent Ductus tore the man's arm from his body, flinging it and the flamethrower away like unwanted trash. The man screamed in agony as the flames engulfing his attacker seared his tender, living flesh.

The man struggled with his aggressor, finding he was far out matched. The angry Cainite proceeded to toss the bleeding man into an unstable wall, damaged by the previous conflict. The wall collapsed onto the man, burying him.

The still burning Cainite fell to the ground, rolling to put out the flames that consumed him with unquenchable fury. Successful in extinguishing the flames, he lie smoldering, his flesh charred, bone showing in places.

The man burst forth from the rubble with inhuman strength and speed. Joro, quick to act, drew his blade, and with one swing, severed the head from his body. The remaining two pack members stared in horror as Joro strode calmly to his sire, his Ductus, and plunged the still bloody katana into his sire's chest, twisting. His sire said but one word. "Why?" Joro responded simply, "You have failed." With one more twist, he sealed the charred Cainite to his fate, the corpse crumbling to ash.

Joro turned to his pack mates. "He maintained control of himself in the face of death. That is admirable. However, allowing himself to be ambushed by a lowly Ghoul was an amateur mistake. In that, he was weak. He failed us as a leader, and he failed himself as a Cainite. I am the new Ductus of The Still Shadow. Do any of you object?"

The two said nothing. They simply nodded and bowed down to their new leader. Later that night the pack met more resistance, and the two others fell, victims of the strengthened Camarilla resistance. Three weeks later, the retreat order was given.

**7:15 PM West Memphis, Arkansas: Banks of the Mississippi River**

The newly formed pack, The Graveborn Saints, strode into the camp nestled deep in the woods, shielded from prying eyes. Of the hundred or so Sabbat that lay siege to Atlanta, these three were the only to survive. Ezekiel, clad in black from head to toe, had named himself Ductus with the blessing of the pack's Priest, Asher, who now sported a brand new body.

The large clearing held a host of tents, from small pup tents to large pavilion tents. Various Cainites went about their night with reckless abandon. Some sparred, some planned, while others chased and tortured terrified Kine, indulging in the power granted them by the Blood of Caine.

The three strode to the center of the encampment, where a grand pavilion tent stood. The tent was made of flesh, seamlessly melded together. The entire thing writhed. Eyes were embedded at precise intervals, tracking the movements of any around the tent. The flap to the tent opened on its own, revealing a large, round table adorned with a map and figurines. At the back sat a lone figure, cloaked in red, sitting upon a throne of bone and flesh.

"Your Excellency, Archbishop Gabriel, we have arrived from Atlanta, and await your orders," Ezekiel growled.

The figure raised his head, revealing only a frail looking, withered grin filled with vicious teeth. The smell of decay flowed from his maw with each syllable. "I've been expecting you. You three have shown much worth. I have a special job for you. The Kindred of Memphis have erected some type of barrier. I want you to infiltrate Memphis as a splinter cell. Make them trust you. Find the source of the barrier and dismantle it. You and I are the only privy to your location and purpose. Ishmael and his pack are currently in Memphis and free to travel across the river. I believe that the Barrier does not affect them because they were present when the barrier was erected."

He paused for a short moment before continuing. "As I have said before. Whoever delivers the last nail in the coffin for Cam Memphis gets Bishop. I highly expect one of you to take that honor. Now, hurry along and may the Sword of Caine remain strong."

The three left the tent, the eyes of the entire camp upon them. Whispers circulated among the others.

Ezekiel led the group to a pavilion tent. The three settled in for the night. It was early, but securing safe haven could be difficult. Ezekiel's Ghouls would be arriving soon. They would secure a haven for the three. For tonight, The Saints would rest.


End file.
